Breaking The Ice
by ShannonSto
Summary: Daryl and Carol try to rebuild their lives after the war with the Saviors. Will they be able to build one together?
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Daryl and Carol try to rebuild their lives after the war with the Saviors. Will they be able to build one together? I've taken some liberties with the weather as it's never actually winter on the show. Takes place post Season Eight. Caryl all the way.

 **Spoilers:** Up to and including 8-13, Send Us Not Astray.

 **Disclaimer:** I dont own a thing. Zilch. Zip. Nada.

 **Breaking The Ice**

 **Chapter 1**

The snow fell for four days and four nights. It was as if it would never stop, blanketing the Hilltop in soft white powder. The residents huddled together in their trailers, the only heat source was the old, primitive standby: fire. Some of the homes had kerosene heaters, but, as with most supplies, the bulk of the kerosene had been taken by the Saviors in the last months of their reign. And so the woodstoves burned, day and night, until the stacks were exhausted. And eventually, the skies cleared. The snow stopped falling. The people began the business of resuming their lives.

Within a few short hours, the road to town had been cleared and pathways had been shoveled between the homes. Wood was chopped and laid out to dry. Under Maggie's direction, each trailer had been checked to assure the continued wellbeing of the residents. Weather extremes were especially dangerous to the very elderly, the very young, and the infirmed, but, thankfully, everyone had come through none the worse for wear.

Carol stepped out the door of the home she was temporarily sharing with Maggie and Enid, and surveyed her surroundings. She had always loved a fresh snow; it reminded of the three years her family spent in Pennsylvania when her father was under contract there. Those were some of the best years of her life. Everything felt so fresh and vibrant. Even though they'd returned to Georgia when she was ten, the memories had lasted a lifetime. The snow brought her back to that innocent age, when she'd had no idea how brutal life could become. Before she learned that claiming to love you wouldn't necessarily prevent someone from terrorizing you. Before dead bodies could reanimate into monsters. Before crazy, sadistic men with eyepatches, baseball bats or "w"s in their foreheads. Yes sir, she was going to grow up, marry Prince Charming and have three beautiful children who would all become doctors or lawyers or such.

 _Ah, the naïveté of youth,_ she thought wryly as she sipped from the coffee mug in her hand. The Saviors were defeated. Negan was dead. But the cost had been very, very high. The sheer number of casualties was painful to consider, not to mention the complete destruction of Alexandria and the near-decimation of the Kingdom. Both had been rendered unlivable. The survivors converged on the Hilltop. She was certain that they needed to move on, but to where? Their best bet at the moment was to stay put, lick their wounds and gather their strength. Then they'd be able to make some hard decisions.

"Bill!" She called out to the man standing glumly outside the next trailer. "Is the storm over? Or do you think there's another front coming?"

"How the hell should I know?" Bill groused.

"Weren't you a meteorologist before the Turn?"

" You see a radar in my pocket?"

 _Lovely man, that one_. She scanned the horizon for a more friendly face. The moment she spotted him, she felt a grin grow within her. How was it that just seeing him could make her smile? Somehow, Daryl had always had that effect on her.

He was covered from head to toe, only his eyes visible through the layers of warm clothing. He stood next to one of the cars as he peered in the windows. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he began scraping the ice off the windshield. What was he up to? She donned her hat and gloves and decided to investigate.

Her relationship with man could, at this point, only be described as strained. She fell in love with him long ago, hell, it felt like forever ago. She'd put feelers our there, but he hadn't seemed interested in advancing beyond friendship. Then a shitstorm had come, beginning with her banishment and ending with her having to kill a little girl. Suddenly, romance became the furthest thing from her mind. She still loved him and wanted him, but she knew that she didn't deserve him—not after the things she'd done. How could she possibly ask anyone else to accept the things that she couldn't accept about herself? Nope, she was severely damaged goods, and he deserved better. The irony of it all was that at the very point where she'd decided a romantic relationship was all wrong, he'd decided that it was just the right time. At least she thought he did. It's what he seemed to be saying with all that talk of "trying" and "starting over." He seemed to be trying to reach out to her. She couldn't stand living in her own skin at the time; she needed to be someone—anyone—else. But when Daryl was around, it simply wasn't possible to be anyone other than herself. And so she'd kept him at arms length.

Her actions had the consequence she desired—or at least the one she thought she'd desired. Daryl had lost interest and backed away from her, content to be just friends. Yet when she left, and he found her in the little house by the Kingdom, he'd seemed so heartbroken. The plaintive and raw "why'd you go?" bowled her over with gut feeling that she had a made a huge mistake and Daryl had paid the price. To be fair, she knew he would be upset at her departure. But she hadn't figured on the expression of abandonment standing on her doorstep. Could it be that he still harbored romantic notions toward her? He lied to her to protect her. But he would've done that for any of them, right? She knew the answers, of course, but she tried her damnedest to bury them as she watched him walk away into the night. She also forced herself to ignore the overwhelming sense that she was not watching a friend walk away from her but a soulmate. A soulmate whom she may never see again.

But she did see him again. And now here he was, just fifty feet away, preparing to get into a car and go…where?

Daryl grimaced as he scraped the ice on the car's windshield. He wasn't sure why he was even bothering, the engine wasn't likely to start anyway. Yet still, he was determined. He'd been holed up in that trailer for four days. It might not have been so bad with different company, but Aaron's snoring and Gabriel's chitchat had driven him insane. Why couldn't he have been stuck with some else, like maybe Carol?

 _You damn fool, Dixon! Why would you let yourself go there? She don't want you. Get it through your thick head._

He'd found her quietly fascinating from the moment she'd smashed the pickaxe through old Ed's skull. Then when she'd shown concern for Daryl's well-being even though her child was missing, well, she'd showed an inner strength, and a depth of perception he was unaccustomed to seeing. She'd been able to look at Daryl the homeless drifter and see a human being who was trying his hardest to help a child he scarcely knew. Never once in their entire history together did she look down on him or anyone else. She judged people by what was in their hearts, not what was in their resumes.

Indeed, it was partly her acceptance and belief in him that led to begin to believe in himself. After all, if Carol saw something worthwhile in him then there must _be_ something, right? He liked the feeling the faith and trust of the group instilled in him. It was antithetical to everything his supposed family had indoctrinated him with his entire life. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was respected and valued. Then, in the blink of an eye, or rather a blast from the Governor's tank, it all came crashing down around him.

After the fall of the prison, he struggled mightily to regain his equilibrium. He was just beginning to be okay again when a random spray of bullets caused him to lay down his bike and end up in that fateful forest with Dwight, Sherry and Tina. The beginning of the end. Again.

Any hope he had for a future with Carol died in the burned out stand of trees; he just didn't know it yet. It became crystal clear the moment he'd realized she wasn't with the group at the Hilltop. He was so tired, and sore, and hungry, traumatized by guilt, a gunshot wound and a week of torture as he told himself that she had merely stayed home to defend the home ground and look after the other Alexandrians.

"Carol takin' care of Judith?" He'd asked of Rick.

"She's gone, Daryl," his friend told him as gently as possible. "She left during the night before we were all captured. She left a note. Didn't want anyone to come after her."

"And you didn't?!"

"I sent Morgan. He didn't come back, either."

Then he knew. He knew that every single thing he'd done over the last year was the exact opposite of what he should've done. He'd seen that she was struggling—but this was Carol! She was the strongest person he'd ever known. More than once he'd seen her rise like a phoenix from the ashes. He'd just expected she would do it again. She told him she didn't want to talk about what was troubling her, and he'd taken her at her word. Now, too late, it was apparent that she _did_ need to talk about it, even if she didn't know it herself. He'd watched helplessly as she contorted herself into someone he scarcely recognized. It pained him, but he didn't know what to do except trust that she would find her way.

No, he could only work on himself. He focused on recruiting, on scavenging, on building a better life for her and the others. He was getting "shit settled", as Abraham had termed it. Then, when she was ready, he could give her the life she deserved. Now it had all gone to shit. The horrible truth was that he would never be able to give her the life she deserved. She left him in the dead of night without even saying goodbye. Even throughout the war, she'd chosen the company of people she'd known for three weeks over the people she'd known since the Turn.

He couldn't blame her, though. She'd been right to go. He had managed to fuck everything up. Maybe someone like Ezekiel was exactly what she needed. He wanted her to be happy, even if it meant she needed to be free of him, but his heart would never, ever stop hurting.

Now here he was, freezing his ass off scraping the windshield of a car that would likely not even start. But he was determined to see this through. He'd wanted to do this since he was a small child.

"Going on a run?" Carol asked as she stopped next to him. Of course, he felt her presence before he heard her voice. Her proximity had the usual effect on him: comforting, calming, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on….something exciting and inspiring.

"Mm hmm. Got somethin' I need to do."

He opened the door and picked up the key from the center console.

Carol reached for the passenger side door. "Where are we headed?"

"You goin'?"

"Is that okay?"

The idea of spending time alone with her thrilled him, but also unnerved him a bit. There was so much hanging in the air between them, so much they'd left unsaid. It felt as though it couldn't remain unspoken much longer. Sooner rather than later, the cork was going to pop off of the bottle, and who knew what might come spewing out of it.

"I guess."

He started to climb into the driver's seat and stopped short.

"Hey," he called over the top of the car, "you know how to drive in this shit?"

"I have before, a time or two," she nodded.

"That's a time or two more than me. Tag, You're it." He tossed her the key and traded sides with her.

"How old do you suppose the anti-freeze is in this thing?" She wondered aloud as she settled into her seat.

"Even older than the gas," he replied. "Fire it up, let's find out if it's any good."

To their mutual surprise, the engine roared to life and they hit the road.

"You've never driven in the snow?" She asked.

"Ain't never seen snow before last year," he said. "I'm from Georgia."

"So am I. It snows in Georgia."

"Not at my house," he muttered.

"We didn't have much snow last year. It was a really mild winter. Where are we going, anyway?"

"Into town. Just stay on route 40." He stared out the window for a moment, then back at Carol. "Can't remember the last time you went on a run."

"I can," Her casual tone was betrayed by the whitening of her knuckles on the steering wheel. "The last time I went on a run, I wasn't allowed to come back."

"That was some serious bullshit right there."

"Water under the bridge." Why she lied, she didn't know. The fact of the matter was that it still bothered her enough that she'd mentioned it in her letter. As the darkness began to settle over her heart, she knew it was time to change the subject. "Think we're gonna get any more snow?"

Daryl eyed her curiously. "I dunno. Ask that weather guy…Bob?"

"Bill," she answered, "and I wouldn't if I were you. Seems like a sore subject."

"I'll take your word for it."

They rode in silence for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

Daryl stared out the window at the white-blanketed countryside. What the hell was she doing? Gabbing about the weather? Had they truly been reduced to idle chatter, or was something else on her mind? Damn, he wished he were better at this. Did she want him to pry, or just go with the flow? Whatever he decided, it would be wrong. He resigned himself to simply enjoying her company—it was, after all, one of the few pleasures in his life. For a moment, he could just be with her and not think about the fact that she would never love him in the same way he loved her. She was with him, not Ezekiel. Or Tobin.

Carol tried to focus on the road, but her mind kept wandering to the scruffy redneck sitting next to her. _Weather, Carol? What's next, how 'bout those Yankees? Why can't you just tell him what's really on your mind?_ She supposed it was possible that he hadn't given up on her. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them. _He doesn't know what you're capable of._ _What you are._ _If he did, he'd run for the hills_. Though the debate raged on in her head, she knew that there was truly only one way to find out…she just needed to find the courage to broach the subject.

"You mad at me?"

Daryl eyed her curiously. "Should I be?"

"It's crossed my mind," she sighed.

"Well, I ain't."

Daryl directed her toward a dilapidated strip mall a block to the east as they rolled into town.

"Right up here on the left, the sporting goods store."

"We're gonna have to park here. That's off the plowed section of the road."

The hike to the door of their destination was only about one hundred yards, but it seemed a lot longer. Daryl struggled with his footing, slipping a couple of times before steadying himself. The frigid temperature served at least one useful purpose, however—the walkers they sporadically spotted were moving very slowly, minimizing any threat they might pose.

Emmet's Sport Emporium lay at the far end of the mall. The plywood nailed across the doors and windows suggested that Emmett had perhaps envisioned returning to his shop when things "blew over." He was likely long dead now. The boards had been pried by previous looters and now hung loosely over the doorway. Daryl crouched beside the entry and shone his flashlight into the darkness.

"See anything?" Carol asked.

"Naw. Don't hear nothin' either." He stood, gave the wood several loud kicks, then peered in again. Satisfied, he yanked the boards away from the door. "Think we're clear."

Uncovering the door and windows flooded the store with daylight. Some areas were in complete disarray while others appeared virtually untouched. The winter clothing and camping gear departments were picked clean. Fortunately there was no one, alive or undead, there at the moment except Daryl and Carol.

Daryl pulled a large garbage bag from his pack and began loading it as he passed by the displays. Sunglasses. Check. Golf tees. No. Baseball gloves. No. Suddenly it dawned on him that Carol had paused in front of a pink bicycle with purple tassels on the handlebars.

"You're a million miles away," he told her softly as he stopped next to her.

"No," she shook her head and ran her hand along the bike's frame, "just a few years. Sophia had this exact same bike. I—or rather, Santa—gave it to her for her last Christmas. She'd been asking for it all year. She was so happy. She rode it every day."

She paused reflectively, reliving the moments. "Ed was pissed off. Said it cost too much. It only cost him seventy bucks. Cost me a dislocated shoulder. But it was soooo worth it to how happy she was."

"You're a good mom," he told her sincerely. At times like this, he was really glad that he couldn't get his hands on that sorry excuse for a man. Things would get very ugly, very fast.

Carol rewarded him with a grateful, albeit skeptical, half-smile. "Why are we here, anyway?"

"Over here." He led her to an aisle of brightly colored snow pans and sleds. "This."

Carol looked at the bright pink plastic sled in his hand and fought back laughter. "Hello Kitty? I took you more for a My Little Pony kinda guy."

"Stop," he drawled.

"Seriously? This is why we're here? Sleds?"

"Why not? Always looked like fun when I saw it on TV."

She shrugged and chose one for herself. "I'm going with Ninja Turtles."

"You gettin' one, too?"

"Looks that way. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?"

He grabbed a duffel bag and held it out for her. "'Kay. Grab whatever looks useful and let's get outta here."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

They made their way slowly back to the car with their treasures. Setting into his seat, Daryl popped open the glove box. The first thing that caught his attention was the shiny red flashlight. He grasped it in his right hand and flipped the switch.

"Ah, dammit! Batteries are dead. What else we got here?" His face lit up when he spotted the stack of compact discs.

"Eagles! Hell, yeah!"

"That'll work," Carol agreed as he pushed the disc into the slot on the dashboard. They headed out on the road in search of the perfect spot.

"How 'bout there?" Daryl pointed to the right. "Looks good."

"You got a death wish?!"

"Why?"

"Look how steep it is—and with all those trees."

"All right, all right," he conceded. "You pick the spot, ace."

The sounds of the Eagles played quietly as they drove.

 _And the hours go by like minutes_

 _And the shadows come to stay_

 _So you take a little something to make them go away_

 _And I could have done so many things, Baby, if I could only stop my mind_

 _From wondering what I left behind_

 _And from worrying about this wasted_ _time_

She rolled to a stop about a mile farther down the road and cut the engine. She stared wordlessly at her companion.

"Yeah, it's better," he grudgingly admitted.

"Bundle up, Pookie," she teased. "It's nippy out."

He stared back at her for the briefest of moments before becoming self-conscious. It always made him feel so special when she flirted with him like that. It was flirting, wasn't it? Recent events made him consider the possibility that he was misinterpreting something else for romantic interest. But it just felt so natural. So _right_.

"Let's do this," he mumbled as he retreated from the situation. _Dammit, Dumbass! Why you such a coward? Just man up and ask her what she means when she does that._

He carried his sled halfway up the slope, slipping and swearing several times as he went.

"Son of a bitch, this shit is slippery!"

"You're cute when you're wobbly," Carol called out cheerfully from behind him.

"Shut up." He turned to her and motioned toward a clear area. "Why don't you pop that Shellraiser down right here and we'll see what you're made of."

"You first."

Daryl laid his sled on the fresh powder and lowered himself onto it, being careful not to accidentally launch it before he was ready. It wouldn't do to wipe out on his very first run. What he encountered, however, was something he hadn't anticipated: the sled didn't move at all. A firm shove from Carol's boot solved the problem and soon he was careening down the hill. The ride was short, but more fun than he'd ever had at the county fair. He remembered excitedly carrying those mats up a zillion stairs to the top of the Super Racer slide, only to be disappointed every time. It was just never fast enough. The kid in the next track always beat him.

He looked back at his companion. She had positioned her sled and was studying the decorative pattern.

"Looks like I'm sitting with Donatello."

"Turn it around," Daryl advised, "Raphael is better. He'll protect you."

"Who says I need protection? Here goes nothing!"

With a delighted laugh, Carol slid to a stop nearby. All he could see through the layers of warm clothing were her eyes, but still he knew she was smiling. She had the most amazing eyes—they truly sparkled when she smiled. It was a vision he could never get enough of, that sparkle.

"Race ya!" He shouted as he picked up his sled. No way the kid in the next lane was beating him this time.

He had scarcely begun the hike back up the hill when a snowball landed squarely between his shoulder blades.

"What the hell?!" He scooped up a handful and formed it into a ball. By the time he hurled it, she had ducked behind a tree and the snowball shattered harmlessly upon impact with the trunk.

"Coward!" He yelled playfully.

"All's fair in love and war!" She shot back, laughing.

"Which one's this?" Immediately, he dreaded the answer and regretted the question. To his relief, she ignored it. "You're just too chicken to race me."

"What do I get if I win?" She appeared from behind the tree and retrieved her sled.

They trudged to the top and readied for their race.

"How 'bout this?" Daryl began. "Winner gets to ask the loser one question, and they gotta answer it."

Hmm, one question, Carol considered for a moment. There were things that he could ask that she would not be comfortable answering. But then, those were probably the ones she needed to answer. Or he may ask her something innocuous. And, not to be glossed over was the fact that she may win. She could think of any number of things she would like to ask him.

"You're on."

"Ready, set, go!"

They skidded down the hill recklessly, with Daryl taking an early lead and Carol quickly catching up to him. Coming to a stop at the bottom, they stared at one another.

"Photo finish," Carol declared.

"You take the photo?"

"Call it a draw?"

"We need a winner. There's a lot at stake."

"How about," she suggested after some thought, "we both win."

"Pffft. Hell's _that_ gonna work?"

"We each get to ask a question."

He considered the proposal as he headed back up the hill. His question was set, but he didn't know if he was prepared for hers. What might she ask? Well, whatever it was he would answer it honestly. He'd never lied to her yet…well, except that one time, but that was a mercy lie. And lies of omission didn't count, right? He hoped not, because he knew he'd committed a couple of those, too. Today, however, he would be completely forthright, no matter what was asked. When he reached the top, he turned to her.

"Ready?"

"No," she answered quickly. "I need a chance to think of my question."

"Really? There ain't nothin' you wanna know?"

"Oh, there's plenty," she snorted, joining him again. "But I only get one chance, so I wanna make it count."

"Aw, Hell, just when I thought we were good," he muttered disdainfully as he lumbered toward a nearby tree. His crossbow leaned against it, in case of just such an eventuality. He scooped it up and aimed it in the direction from which the sound had come, just over the next rise.

"I don't hear anything," Carol said quietly.

"I did."

"Walkers?"

"Dunno."

Suddenly, a horse appeared at the top of the hill. Seeing the humans, it immediately turned and bolted.

"Damn, we coulda used him," Daryl sighed, lowering his weapon.

"Well, he's gone now. Pretty wild anyway. He would've been tough to tame."

Daryl propped the crossbow back against the tree and turned his attention back to his sled.

"Gettin' pretty cold. A few more runs?"

"Go ahead," she said. "I'm going to build a snowman."

Two runs later he shrieked as his sled came to an abrupt stop.

"Ow, shit!"

"What?" Carol rushed over from her snow torso. "Are you ok?"

"Goddam stump!" He pointed. "Think I broke my ass!" He gingerly rubbed the sore area.

"Want me to take a look at it?" She asked suggestively. Seeing his obvious befuddlement and rapidly reddening face, she let him off the hook. "So you can defeat tanks and cannibals and hordes of walkers, but a little chunk of wood is gonna do you in?"

"You're the one who beat the cannibals," he teased back at her. "They had me on the ropes."

He waved his chin toward the pile of snow she'd been manipulating. "Your snowman ain't lookin' so hot."

"I was going to put a head on him when someone started whining about a broken ass." She crossed her arms in mock indignation.

"Problem is you ain't got a hat, or even a carrot."

"If I had a carrot right now, you'd eat it."

"Damn straight. I don't suffer for nobody's art."

"He's going to have to go topless." She rolled the snow around to form a head and carefully lifted it to the top of the body. With a stick she drew a face. Satisfied, she broke the stick in two and fashioned the pieces into arms. As she stood back to admire her work she was caught off guard by a barrage of snowballs striking her. Laughing, she ducked behind a tree again and hastily prepared her own arsenal.

Each in his or her own fortress, Daryl behind a boulder and Carol behind the tree, and flinging snowballs back and forth, they laughed like children for the first time in a very long time.

The plunging temperature pulled at Carol's heartstrings. She wasn't ready to give up these precious moments with him—not yet. Not ever. But it was time to head back to reality. Why couldn't reality be more like this? She supposed her eleventh grade English lit teacher would be proud that she finally understood what Robert Frost meant. _Nothing gold can stay_. Damn, reality was a bitch sometimes.

It was time to go back to the relative shelter of Hilltop.

When the engine of the sedan started up, so did the CD player.

 _I'll remember what you told me before you went out on your own—_

 _Sometimes to keep it together, you've got to leave it alone._

 _So you can get on with your search, Baby, and I can get on with mine_

 _And maybe someday we will find_

 _That it wasn't really wasted time._

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

With a stretch and a yawn, Daryl sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. Aaron, being a morning person, was already up and preparing coffee. The first rays of the morning sun peeked through the blinds.

"Thanks," he mumbled as his friend handed him a cup of joe. Not bad for instant, but then, you work with what you've got. They were lucky to have coffee at all, and they knew it. Most of the residents had to get theirs from a community urn in the main courtyard. In about an hour Carol, Nabila, Marcy and Jack would be just beginning breakfast service.

A census taken after the war put their number at ninety-six. The total included the survivors from the Kingdom, the Hilltop and Alexandria, plus a handful of Savior refugees. Of the ninety-six, eighteen were children and three women were pregnant. The place was bursting at the seams, and resources were becoming increasingly scarce. Decisions needed to be made. Should they repair and rebuild Alexandria and the Kingdom and return to being three separate communities with a pact to have each others' backs? Or would it be better to stay together and use their number as an asset?

If the latter, who would lead? If Daryl had his way, they would all stay together and elect a council to govern, much like the one they'd had at the prison. So far, however, no one had asked his opinion. It was something for Rick, Ezekiel and Maggie to work out, not him.

He pulled on his jeans and laced up his boots while nursing his coffee. His scavenging run yesterday was a complete bust; not only had he come up empty, he'd gotten back quite late and hadn't seen Carol. Three days now since their sledding excursion, and he hadn't seen her since.

He threw open the trailer door and stepped out into the courtyard. Warming already. Hard to believe it had been so cold only a few days ago. There was going to be a lot of snow melt today. Eight o clock now, breakfast time. Sure enough, there she was at the grill, talking with that Jerry guy from the Kingdom.

"What's cookin'?" He tried to approach her nonchalantly, then something caught his eye. "The hell, them _pancakes_?!"

Her eyes lit up in that sparkly way he loved so much as the smile spread across her face at his arrival. "They are. Jesus found a whole case of maple syrup yesterday. So pancake breakfast, it is. Not enough eggs, though, and no meat, but pancakes we got. And orange juice, freshly squeezed."

"Where the hell did he find syrup? I didn't find nothin'." Showed up by Jesus Rovia? No, that wouldn't do. He would have to double his efforts today.

"Shut up and enjoy," she teased as she handed him a plate of flapjacks. "Syrup's over there."

"Don't worry, I will." He scooped a couple slices of melon onto his plate. "And I ain't forgot that I owe you a question." He poured the syrup and went to find a seat.

He sat at an angle that kept Carol in his view while he ate, but his thoughts wandered back to scavenging. At this point, three years in, there simply wasn't anything left in stores. Whatever was left to be found would be in private homes and many of those had been ransacked already as well. He would have to find a relatively untouched neighborhood. Going house to house was tedious and painstaking, not to mention dangerous, but it needed to be done. There were a lot of mouths to feed. He knew the pantry at Alexandria was picked clean. But what about the Sanctuary? It was pretty overrun with walkers when he was there last, but maybe they had moved on in search living flesh. He would have to check it out, maybe take a team with him.

"May I join you?" Ezekiel suddenly appeared on his left.

Daryl gestured toward the empty chair and the displaced king sat down with his breakfast. "And how are you this fine chilly morning?"

Daryl had never been one for idle pleasantries. He shoveled in another mouthful before responding. "Good, I guess. You?"

"Well, thank you. And where will your travels take you today?"

"Was thinkin' of gettin' together a team, go check out what's left of the Sanctuary. Clear out the walkers. See what we can see. Might be somethin' we can use there."

"Perhaps. If you please, I would like to offer my assistance on your errand. "

Rosita, arriving with her own plate, chimed in. "Can I sit here, or is this the cool kids' table?"

"There's somethin' I ain't never been called before," Daryl snorted.

"Of course, my lady, please join us." The king jumped up and pushed her chair in for her.

"We're goin' to scope out the supplies at the Sanctuary," Daryl told her. "You in?" _Please say yes. Please say yes._ He wasn't thrilled with the thought of being stuck alone with the king all day. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but, all things being equal, Daryl would much rather hang with Rosita. Or Michonne. Or Tara. Or… _don't even go there, Dixon._

"Sure, why not?" After some pancake-filled thought, she added, "we should get Eugene. He knows his way around there."

"He ain't exactly a steady hand, though. A few walkers and he'll shut his panties. Dwight knows where shit is, too."

"But he's not going to be back from his run for a few days. Come on, it took guts to do what Eugene did with those bullets. Let's give him a chance."

"It would be a grand opportunity for him to prove his valor and redeem his honor," Ezekiel interjected.

"A'ight, you win. But I ain't babysittin' him."

Carol may have been busy with preparing and serving the morning meal, but that didn't stop her from keeping an eye on Daryl while she did it. She noticed when he was joined by Ezekiel, then Rosita, and wondered what the topic of conversation was.

This would be the end of the "just add water" pancake mix. No matter, it was worth it to see everyone get a hearty meal. The pantry was bare now, and good meals would be few and far between, so this was a needed fill-up. She'd caught Daryl's reaction to the acquisition of the syrup by Jesus. It wasn't a competition, but she knew Daryl well enough to know that a sizable portion of his self-worth came from his ability to provide for and protect his "family." To her, his worth was intrinsic, not one bit dependent on what he managed to scrounge, but he saw it differently. There could be no doubt that he was going out again today. _Please let him find something. For his sake as well as ours._

"It was a great idea to cover the grill with foil to make a griddle," Marcy gushed. "Works great. Why don't you take a plate and go eat? I can take it from here."

Carol took her up on her offer. She approached Daryl, who was alone now that Zeke and Rosita had finished. He was apparently finished, too, staring at a map on the table before him.

"Pennsylvania?"

With a start, he looked up at the woman standing next to him.

"Hey," He outstretched his hand, "I'm Jackass. I must be 'cause I didn't thank you for the yummy breakfast."

"You don't have to." She sat beside him. "I'm happy to do whatever I can."

"Whatever you can? Ain't nothin' you can't do."

She felt her cheeks getting red. Anyone else, she would've called bullshit, but coming from him, she knew the compliment was sincere. "Planning a road trip?"

"We're runnin' out of places to look. Probably ain't nothin' there either, but we gotta expand our search area. First we're gonna check the Sanctuary, then make sure we've gone door to door in every damn neighborhood."

"Not alone, I hope."

"Naw, that ain't a one man job. Takin' Ezekiel, Rosita and Eugene."

"Eugene?"

"Not my idea."

"I figured. Mind if I tag along?"

"Course not." He stood. "Gonna go check the gas and oil in the truck. Shit, with five we're gonna need two vehicles. Wanna ride on the bike with me?"

 _Yes, yes, yes, God yes! Easy Carol_ …"You're on."

He nodded and headed toward the motor pool.

She rushed through her breakfast, her insides in a knot. She didn't relish the thought of having to clear out walkers, not like the others did. She viewed it as a necessity while Daryl and Rosita seemed to see it as a challenge. But she volunteered because she very much relished the idea of hanging out with Daryl. The bike was the icing on the cake. And, if there was any luck left in the world, they would be able to recover a substantial amount of food from the Saviors, food they had stolen from the communities in the first place.

An hour later, the team gathered around their vehicles: a beat up pickup truck and Daryl's motorcycle. Ezekiel climbed behind the wheel of the truck, with Rosita sandwiched between him and Eugene. Daryl straddled the bike and Carol climbed on behind him. She laughed inwardly to think that before the Turn, she would never have done something so dangerous as to ride on the back of a motorcycle, without a helmet no less. But these days danger was a relative term. In the spectrum of risks they faced every single day, this ranked pretty low. She wrapped her slender fingers around his waist as they roared out of the gates of Hilltop. She fought the urge to bury her cheek in the back of his neck.

The didn't have to get very close to the Sanctuary to see that it was still infested with the undead. Daryl rolled to a stop and raised his left hand to signal the truck.

The five stood on a rooftop above the site to formulate a plan. It didn't take long.

Daryl and Rosita checked each abandoned car as they walked down the street until they found one that would suit their needs. Breaking out the driver's side window, she activated the car's alarm causing the horn to honk every two seconds.

"That should get most of 'em out," Daryl said when they rejoined the others. "Still gonna be a few here and there, maybe some trapped, but we can take 'em."

After a few minutes the steady stream of walkers moving out of the Sanctuary and toward the blaring sound slowed to nothing. The crew parked their vehicles in the bike lot behind the main building.

"I took the liberty of sketching a schematic," Eugene offered as he unfolded a slip of paper. "The primary food storage is here in the basement. Secondary caches are denoted with the red circles here, here and here."

"Good, thank you," Carol said. "Any chance of the higher ups having stashed food in their rooms?"

"Negative. Every nip, nibble and nosh was accounted for. Even the lieutenants would not be likely to risk such a transgression. The head honcho himself, however, may have a veritable vittles bonanza in his suite. Which, by the by, can be found here on the fourth floor." The scientist placed his finger on the map.

"So we split up," Rosita suggested. "Eugene and I can take these," she said as she pointed to the red circles, "while you guys check out Negan's quarters. Then we all meet in the basement."

"Go forth with vigilance," Ezekiel admonished. "Behind any corner or closed door the wasted may lie in wait."

"Yeah, don't no one do nothin' alone," Daryl agreed. "Watch out for yourselves and each other. Goddamn can of peas ain't worth your life."

"A _case_ of peas, however…" Rosita began.

"Not funny!" Daryl chided.

"Lighten up, Dixon. We got this." She pumped her fist confidently to reassure him.

"Mmkay. Have at it."

Carol found herself beside the king as they trailed Daryl into the building. The company was, to say the least, interesting. It was clear that Ezekiel was fond of her in a way that went beyond mere friendship. Yet the same could be said about her feelings for the man in the angel wings who led them. This is the stuff soap operas are made of, she thought wryly. Or were made of. Back when there was such a thing. For thirty-five years she'd watched _The Young and The Restless_. And for the last fifteen of those years, Ed berated her for it. "You watch that damn TV all day! That's why you don't get any of your work done!" He couldn't begrudge one single hour of the day for escaping from reality. The house was always spotless and dinner was already waiting when he got home from work, but nothing was ever enough for that man. The crunch of a cockroach under Zeke's boot was enough to snap her back to the present. _Don't get distracted_ , she reminded herself. _That's what gets people killed_. Danger lurked behind around every corner.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A long corridor stretched before them, with doors every ten feet or so on either side. What this area had been used for, she could only imagine. As they passed an open door, she could see that the rooms were small, without windows or adornments. Probably store rooms or maybe even small offices before the Turn, she surmised. But why would there be multiple storerooms—at least twenty by her estimation—in one hallway? And who would want to use a windowless room with a cement floor and cement walls as their office? This place was creepy as hell. But then, what place wasn't anymore?

Daryl stopped outside one of the rooms and drew in a deep breath. The door hung open, but he didn't enter. He looked to Carol as though he might vomit.

"You okay?" She asked.

He nodded somberly.

"This was where they kept you," Ezekiel said quietly.

"Mm hmm."

"How long?"

"Eight days."

What?! Daryl had been imprisoned by the Saviors? How did she not know this? What else didn't she know? She shuddered to imagine.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

The archer shrugged absently in response.

She stepped into the cell, envisioning what it must feel like to be trapped in there.

As if reading her thoughts, Daryl spoke up "Wasn't all the time. After a few days, they had me out workin.' It was okay."

He spoke with the same hesitation and tone he'd used when he told her that everyone was all right and a deal had been reached with the Saviors. She wasn't buying it. There clearly was nothing okay about any of it. Had Sasha, Gabriel and Eugene been tossed in here as well? She tried not to imagine the vibrant young woman spending her last hours in this dark cell.

Daryl nodded toward the corridor. They followed him again, around the corner and up the stairs. So far, so good. No walkers anywhere. They paused briefly each landing, making sure that path remained clear ahead of them. Weapons remained at the ready at all times.

Reaching the top, Carol and Ezekiel positioned themselves to provide cover as Daryl carefully swung open the door of Negan's apartment. No bogeymen, just a scent of pine forest wafting out of the air freshener on the wall.

The difference between this apartment and the rest of the building was stark. It was elegant and well-appointed. Comfort abounded. A king-sized bed with a pillow top mattress was definitely preferable to the rows of cots they'd passed in the workers' quarters.

They opened every closet and every cabinet in search of usable goods. The kitchenette yielded some dry goods, pasta and the like. It wasn't much, but it was certainly better than what they had. Every little bit would help. Carol figured with the right vegetables and a little meat, she could make that pasta go a long way.

The search turned up nothing else but a stack of Polaroids Carol picked up from the file cabinet.

Each depicted a different man lying dead on the ground, his head obliterated. Jesus, what was wrong with this man? Why would anyone take pictures of this?

She must have gasped aloud, because Daryl rushed over and took the photos from her hand.

"You don't wanna see that," he warned. He'd forgotten that she hadn't gone into the outpost that night, and therefore hadn't seen the photos taped to the wall. And there were likely to be a couple of new ones in the stack, anyway.

"I've seen bodies, Daryl," she reminded him. Despite her objection, however, she couldn't help but appreciate his protectiveness.

"Not those."

"Man's inhumanity to man never ceases to amaze," Ezekiel shook his head sadly. "A reminder of what we fought for."

"Ain't much here," Daryl changed the subject. "Let's hope Rosita and Eugene are havin' more luck."

Daryl led the trio back down the stairs and through the cafeteria where he'd once been forced to clean up after witnessing Negan burn a man's face with an iron. He couldn't help but notice how closely the "king" stuck to Carol. He identified the emotion it stirred in him as "jealousy", but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He knew he loved her, but he also knew that she saw him as a friend. There was no future for them. If Ezekiel could make her happy, then he should get one hundred percent behind that. Otherwise, he was just a selfish ass, right?

He wished like hell she hadn't seen those photos. It would have torn her up if she somehow recognized Glenn's among them. He didn't quite get why he was being so protective—Carol didn't need protection from him or anybody else. She was strong and smart, a survivor through and through. Still, though, she had a vulnerability that she hid from most people. He supposed he should feel honored that she'd been willing to drop her guard in front of him that evening in her house. She'd seemed so broken, so fragile in those moments. It frightened him and he renewed his resolve to do whatever he could do to ensure she never had to hurt like that again.

They continued their silent march through the building, careful not to draw the attention of any walkers that may be lurking nearby. They were all seasoned walker-killers, but Carl had been as well. His loss was, among other things, a horrific reminder to them not be complacent about the dangers of the walking dead. Sophia, Dale, T-Dog, Andrea, Bob, Tyreese, Noah, Deanna now Carl—no way in hell was anyone else going to die that way, not if Daryl had anything to say about it.

He hadn't seen the basement during his time here, so they relied on their memories of Eugene's map to find the correct stairwell. Unless Daryl missed his guess, it should be right through the next door on the left.

"The entry should be found through that door," Ezekiel whispered, confirming Daryl's guess.

He nodded, and raised his knife over his right shoulder as he slowly opened the heavy steel door. Immediately, they heard the telltale snarl of the undead. One well-placed stab brought it down with a sad thud. Carol shone her flashlight around the stairwell. Seeing nothing further, they proceeded down the stairs to the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs was a door standing slightly ajar. They entered cautiously, slowly. The room was cavernous, but broken up by floor to ceiling shelves, giving the appearance of multiple smaller rooms. They made their way into the largest area toward the far end. From the right and somewhat behind them, from behind a shelf of canned goods, a walker emerged. Daryl reflexively fired a bolt through its head.

Carol went back to retrieve the bolt. Daryl turned to watch, crossbow at the ready, when suddenly he was knocked off his feet by a tremendous boom. The walls seemed to cave around him and everything went black.

Carol felt as if everything froze in time. The explosion was deafening. A volcano of debris rained down around her and the dusty smoke billowed. A flame sparked and grew from the broken pipe on what remained of the wall. She shone the flashlight desperately about her. There it was, just ten feet away. She ran over and shut off the gas valve and, just in case, the power main. With the butt of the flashlight, she smashed the glass over the fire extinguisher. Growling and snarling alerted her to the presence of walkers coming down the stairs.

 _Pull, aim, squeeze, sweep_. Who would have known that those mind-numbingly boring mandatory education drills her company had forced on her would actually come in handy someday? She pulled the pin and fired the foam at the base of the fire, knocking it out quickly.

Almost too late, she became acutely aware of the walker's teeth closing in on her shoulder. With a spin, she smashed its skull with the fire extinguisher. The force of the spray from the extinguisher was enough to push the others back into the stairwell and she slammed the door shut.

Catching her breath, she assessed the situation.

She was trapped. Walls on two sides, a door protecting her from walkers on another side and a wall of cement debris on the fourth. Where were Daryl and Zeke? Were they okay? What if they were injured? What if they had a fire on their side, too, and she had the extinguisher? Was there even enough oxygen in the small space if they were somehow alive?

It was irrational, she knew, but she couldn't resist the urge to kick the walker impaled by Daryl's arrow; after all, if not for its presence, she'd be with him right now. Even if his situation were worse than her current one, it would be easier to be with him than standing here worried out of her mind. But here is where she was, and she had to just deal with it. Play the hand that your dealt, right? The corpse before her was newly-turned. It was a once pretty woman in a cliched "little black dress." Carol remembered the days when she used to be able to wear things like that. They were, of course, the days before she met Ed.

She purposely never thought of walkers as men or women. To acknowledge that they were once people, once mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, soulmates or whatever, people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams only served to humanize them. As far as she was concerned, they had ceased to be human the moment their brains had died. Their bodies were then claimed by some unknown force that even the best scientists in the world hadn't been able to definitively identify. Dr. Jenner's video of Test Subject 19 had illustrated the horrors perfectly. She was his wife before she died, but he wouldn't refer to her zombie by her name, only as "TS-19."

She clanked the flashlight against the debris. "Daryl? Daryl? Can you hear me?"

She was met by only silence.

"Ezekiel? Daryl?!"

This time, she did hear something. But it came from behind her. There was some sort of commotion in the stairwell. Several loud thuds were followed by the slow and deliberate opening of the door. The beam of light shining in her eyes through the crack in the entry nearly blinded her. Her arm went up to shield them.

"Carol?" Rosita's voice rang. "You okay?"

"Still here," she sighed. She pointed to the pile of debris. "Daryl…Ezekiel…"

"Shit," the brunette rushed over, "this looks pretty solid. Have you heard them?"

"No."

"We're gonna need help." Rosita aimed her light at Eugene.

He shifted his weight from foot to door. "Preliminary analysis says you and I should begin careful excavation while Carol goes to sound the alarm. "

"I'm not leaving," Carol protested.

"We need physical strength to move this crap," Rosita said. Unfortunately, she knew, what they needed for this job was Abraham and Daryl. "Eugene and I'll stay. You should go to Hilltop and tell Rick what's going on."

"No, you go. I'm not leaving him," Carol insisted. If anyone noticed her use of a singular pronoun, they didn't comment.

Rosita knew there was no use in further debate. "All right. I'll go. I'll be back with the others as soon as I can."

She vanished into the darkness as she headed up the stairs.

"I don't where to start," Carol admitted. "If we move the wrong piece at the wrong time, it could cause further collapse, right?"

"All things bein' equal, we don't really have a choice," the scientist replied. "Start with the ones that we can lift without disturbing any that are supporting others."

They worked largely in silence, painstakingly removing rubble and placing it out of their way. With each fragment they dislodged, Carol braved herself against seeing something she dreaded. All she could do was simply keep working, and hope that the men would be found alive.

It felt like twelve hours, but in actuality it was one before the cavalry arrived. The room began to glow with lanterns and filled with people.

"You all right?" Rick asked her.

She nodded glumly.

"What caused the explosion?"

"I don't know. I shut the gas off, though."

"Good. We don't need an encore." He placed his hands in his hips and looked in the direction of the blockage. "Anything?"

"No."

Jerry appeared and pulled Carol into a bear hug. "We'll find them. We'll get them out."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Head pounding. Throat sore. What the hell? Daryl rolled over slowly, taking inventory of his body parts as he turned. Nothing seemed to be broken, but damn his head hurt. And smoky dust was clogging his airways as it settled.

Something had put his lights out but good. What the hell was it? How long had he been out? The last thing he could clearly recall was descending a flight of stairs with Carol and Ez—Carol! Where was she? Was she all right? He sat up and coughed.

"Carol?" He croaked into the darkness. "Carol? Ezekiel?"

He moved his hand through the debris around him until he found his flashlight. The light beam surveyed the room until it found a crumpled form in the shape of a human partially buried underneath the rubble.

"Ezekiel?" Daryl felt for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. The beam that had fallen across the man's chest was slowly suffocating him.

He took a deep breath and threw his weight against the beam in a futile attempt to dislodge it. Another fit of coughing ensued, and he fell back on his butt.

"That all you got?" Merle derided. "Ya lift like a schoolgirl. Put some muscle into it."

Terrific. Just what he needed. "Shut up. You're only here 'cause somethin' hit me in my head."

"Why you tryin' to help him anyhow? He wants yer woman!"

"You gonna help me or just piss me off?" Daryl shot back at the hallucination.

"Helpin' you is exactly what I'm tryin' to do." Merle sat on a fallen shelf. "Lemme ask ya somethin', little brother. Where's Officer Friendly right now? And that nut buster? She might be worryin' about this guy, not you."

Daryl grunted as he attempted again to move the weight. "You know what? Rick and Carol done more for me in three years than you did in forty-five."

"She walked out on you in the dead of night without so much as a how-do-ya-do. Maybe she ain't even breathin' no more, anyway. Maybe she's buried under that pile of rocks over there."

"Shut up!" He said more forcefully than before. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead in an effort to remain conscious. "You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about. Anyway, she's just fine. Take more'n a bunch a concrete to kill Carol." He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

"Okay, okay, I'll give you that one. She's one ballsy bitch. Woulda never thought it back in that camp when she was cowering like a little mouse every time her old man looked at her. But she was different at the prison. Savvy. Tough. Wasn't scared to get in my face."

"I'm sure you had it comin'." Daryl rose, and moved toward Ezekiel again. "I shouldn't a listened to you then, and I ain't listenin' to you now."

"You best listen. 'Cause your big brother's learned a few things. She got in my face 'cause she's sweet on you, dummy. She had your back, and if I was bettin' I'd lay good money that she's still got your back."

"She's got my back," Daryl confirmed, "and I got hers. No matter what. But she ain't sweet on me."

"You don't wanna listen to that, huh? Well listen to this. I'm gonna tell you somethin' important now. Somethin' I shoulda said a long time ago. I wasn't the best brother ever. Aw, hell, I was a shitty brother."

"Yeah?"

"I tried, you know, I did, I cared for you but I didn't know how. Let's face it, our folks weren't exactly Ozzie and Harriet."

"They weren't even Ozzy and Sharon," Daryl snorted. He stared sadly at the apparition his subconscious had placed beside him. "You did try. And you came through in the end. I just wish…I wish I coulda got there in time. Maybe we coulda fixed things, been better to each other."

"Nooooo, baby brother. No. It went down the way it shoulda. I don't regret a thing I did that day. First time in my life I ever did anything good, and I didn't just do it for you. I did it for them others, too—the Mouse, Officer Friendly, that Chinese kid…they was there for you when I wasn't. It wasn't no scam, they really liked ya. Respected ya. Me, I was pea green with envy. I wish I had your guts and grit."

"You had more than me!" Daryl protested. Another attempt to rescue the man trapped in the rubble failed. "You don't think it takes guts and grit to go off on your own at sixteen? Or saw off your own hand?"

"Nope. What it takes is desperation."

"I seen plenty of desperate people just give up. Quit. But you, no. You never did. I learned that from you—to never ever stop fightin'."

"You keep fightin' 'cause you're a Dixon. Fightin's what we do. I miss you son, but I gotta get goin'. A piece of advice from old Merle? Move them boxes over there and stand on the other side. Get more leverage that way."

Another wave of syncope descended on Daryl as his consciousness faded to black.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He awoke with a throbbing pain in his head. The confusion swirling around his brain threatened to overwhelm him. How long had been unconscious this time? Or was this actually his first time awakening since the explosion and Merle's visit had been only a dream? His flashlight lay beside him. He immediately shone it at the still body of King Ezekiel, just inches away from him.

The faint pulse was there, just as he had felt it—or imagined it—before. Upon the touch of fingers on his neck, Zeke's eyes flickered open.

The boxes on the man's left were easily enough moved. Dammit, Merle was right again. If only that son of a bitch could've used his powers for good when he was still alive. With the improved angle and a whole lot of straining, he was able to remove the beam from across Ezekiel's torso.

He sat on the floor with his back against an overturned shelf while recovered his strength. Slowly, Ezekiel also moved to a sitting position.

"Thank you," the man said hoarsely.

"Anything broken?"

"A lot of chest pain, so maybe a cracked rib or two. Where is Carol?"

Daryl shook his head. "Dunno. That cave in musta come down between us and her." _Or_ _on_ _her._

They sat in silence at length. How long, neither could tell. It could have a few minutes or it could have been an hour. Gradually, the mental fog began to clear. Zeke retrieved his own flashlight and propped it in the way that gave them a modicum of illumination.

All right, Dixon, get off your ass and find a way out of here. The sooner he could get out, the sooner he could find her. He used his light to scan their prison thoroughly, careful not to miss an inch _._

Both men's attentions were captured by a ventilation duct in the wall near the ceiling. The small circular opening was covered by a square vent.

"We may find it reassuring to know we shall not run out of oxygen," Ezekiel mentioned.

Daryl was already on his feet, standing directly under it to get a better look. "Where you 'spose this goes?"

"Doesn't matter. We're both fairly large men. Neither of us is fitting through there."

The archer nodded. "I don't even think Enid could fit through there, and she's tiny. Still seems like there oughta be somethin' we can do with this."

"What do you remember of the map?" Ezekiel asked. "Are any of these exterior walls?"

"The eastern one."

"I've lost my bearings," the king admitted, "which direction is east?"

Daryl rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "We we're headin' south. Carol was behind us. The pile came down between us and her, so…" he turned to face the far wall and pointed, "this way's east."

He carefully navigated his way around the debris littering the floor and reached the east wall.

"It's concrete, man, pretty solid. We ain't gettin' through there without a jackhammer. Unless I can find somethin' here to use like a pickaxe."

With a moan, Zeke struggled to his feet. Slowly, he came to stand beside Daryl.

"I'm afraid this is all for naught," he began sadly, "she's likely buried beneath the rubble."

"No she ain't! Why you gotta go there?" Daryl spat angrily.

"Just trying to be realistic…"

"Well, you ain't. We're gonna get outta here and we're gonna find her. She's gonna be just fine." He fought back hard against the naysayer in his own mind. _The_ _last_ _time_ _you_ _said_ _that_ , _the_ _girl_ _was_ _dead_ _and_ _turned_. _Accept_ _it_. _No_! _No_ , _it's_ _different_. _Carol_ is _fine_. He felt he'd failed to find Sophia, something which haunted him, but he would not, could not fail Carol again.

"You're right, you're right. I've been accused of being overly optimistic. It's time to exercise a bit of that faith now." He aimed his light at rubble. "If we cannot breach this wall, perhaps we may try _that_ one."

"You gonna be liftin' that shit? With broken ribs?"

"I will," Ezekiel nodded. "But it is of concern to me that if Carol is trapped underneath, as I was, we may cause the weight to shift and injure her further. We must be very, very cautious."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. Putting Carol at risk was not something he was willing to do. But what if there were no other options? Surely there must be. He turned his attention back to the tiny vent.

"I got an idea…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol could feel the walls closing in around her. An odd phrase, she chided herself, considering what she'd experienced today, but it was nonetheless true. Four hours now, and still no indication of the status of Daryl and Ezekiel. The uncertainty was crushing her soul. Three years she'd spent becoming strong and self-sufficient, but here, now, she felt as helpless as she had when she'd seen Sophia flee into the woods.

Her arms ached and her hands were beginning to blister from moving those chunks of debris. But there was simply nothing else she could do, so she just kept doing it. She was short of breath and drenched in sweat when Michonne all but forced her to go outside for a quick dose of sunlight and fresh air.

The cold air hit her sweat moistened clothing and skin, instantly chilling her as she reached the courtyard. Sitting there, glistening in the sunlight, was the motorcycle. And it hit her again, like a punch in the gut—what if that bike was all that was left of him? What if she never saw him again? Just a few days ago, they were sledding on a hillside, momentarily free from the burdens of their world. Now, he could be dead. Gone. Just like so many others. But he wasn't like the others, was he?

"How ya holding up?" Rick's voice startled her.

"I'm not," She stammered. "I don't even know what I'm doing out here. I should be in there—"

"You should be right where you are," he told her gently. "You sure you don't have any injuries?"

"I'm fine. But I need to be in there. I need to be doing something. Even though it feels…"

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"You won't do them any good if you pass out. Besides, this is Daryl."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means it's Daryl," he repeated before clarifying. "Remember the CDC? Once we found out Jenner locked us in?"

 _What the hell, Rick? How could I forget? "_ Of course."

" _Your head ain't!_ '" He quoted in his best, but still woefully bad, impression of Daryl's voice. "You know, at the time I didn't know him well, and I was a little too involved in the situation to fully appreciate him, but when I look back now, that was pretty funny! And then, while the rest of us were standing there in shock, what was Daryl doing? Trying to bust out."

"I remember, Rick!" Carol snapped. She couldn't figure out what he was doing. Was he trying to eulogize Daryl?

"I know," he continued, "I know things are looking pretty bleak right now, but _this_ _is_ _Daryl_. And Daryl never gives up. There's no quit in him. No matter how bad the odds are. Negan locks him up for a week, does God knows what to him, but did it break him? Hell, no! He came up fighting."

Gradually it dawned on her what he was trying to say. "You're right."

"I am. WWDD. That's our new motto."

TBC


End file.
